A funeral of a friend

Yesterday I attended the funeral of the father of a fellow Ruster.

On the train journey along the South Coast I reflected on why we go to funerals: is it duty, paying your last respects, support, obligation?

In my case it was to pay my last respects.  I was flattered to be considered close enough to the family to be invited to a private funeral as the memorial will be next month.

The deceased was an old-fashioned city gent, a scion of a well-known firm of global accountants.

I met his eldest son at a law firm in the 70s and we soon became fast friends which we still are.

I’m also friendly with his two younger brothers.

My friend delivered a fine eulogy neither too reverential but respectful, well-crafted and measured.

With my mother passing on January 14th six years ago, one of my best friends on January 25th 2019, and this year an old friend and sister of  one of my “besties”, I also found myself reflecting on the format of  funerals.

Polly’s best friend Grania, a bereavement counsellor, expressed with her customary clarity of thought that so often the organiser has fixed ideas to the exclusion of others who would like to make an input.

This happened with my friend and his sister – he played no role in the service and was not even invited to the “wake’ (for want of a better word) afterwards.

One must remember that the organiser could be inconsolable so allowances must be made.

Yesterday seven grandchildren of the deceased gave readings. They seemed so young with their fresh bright faces – not unlike Polly and Grania – which reflects a new generation of life is merging.

After I spoke to three of those  grandchildren whom I scarcely  knew.

It was ”old fart stuff “ of how my mother aged 16 lost all her family in the Holocaust, had to spend 70 consecutive nights in the shelter not knowing if her house survived, but I never heard her complain – or if  she did it was over something relatively minor like a perceived  slight.

That generation did not moan, knew little of the luxuries that today’s take for granted: eating out at restaurants, mobile phone etc.

As with Polly I saw not a look in the eyes which said “Will this bore ever shut up?” but a keen sense of engagement in my historical reminisce.

The deceased was 94 and had no quality of life so condolence was on the basis of ‘It’s for the better’.  Yet, as the curtain closed round the coffin to Give me Sunshine, I am sure I was not  alone in feeling a profound loss.